


You'll Come Back

by A_New_World_To_Be_Won



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, a lot of crying, but it's fine, courfeyrac's sweater is ruined, everything works out, friendship is more important than sweaters, there is crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:50:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_New_World_To_Be_Won/pseuds/A_New_World_To_Be_Won
Summary: "Really, he supposes, it was only a matter of time. They had gotten married young, too young, according to his relatives, who whispered about it at the reception, holding martinis and wearing pearls and crisp suits. At the time, Grantaire had been ecstatic, figuring it meant that it was time better spent with the person you loved and valued most in the world, the person who you wanted to be at your side for the rest of time. But now it seems like maybe his relatives were right, like maybe an early marriage only meant early heartbreak."





	You'll Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt I found on Tumblr! https://the-night-that-ends-at-last.tumblr.com/search/divorce

“Grantaire, where’s my laptop?” Grantaire shrugs absently, shading in a few lines here and there, trying to get the shading of the nose. Honestly, it’s too early for this- it’s barely seven-thirty in the morning. 

“Where did you see it last?” he calls back, when it seems like Enjolras is waiting for an answer. Enjolras huffs. 

“If I knew that, I would have found it already, don’t you think?” His tone is slightly patronizing, but Grantaire doesn’t notice, not until Enjolras snatches the drawing from the table.

“Hey!” he says indignantly, glancing up. “What the fuck Enj?”

“Can you  _ help  _ me?” Enjolras says, and Grantaire sighs, not moving.

“I don’t know. Check, like, the spare room or something.”

“We never fucking  _ use  _ the spare room! Why would it be in there?”

“Why would it be anywhere?” Grantaire asks cheekily. Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“Forget it,” he mutters, and stomps off.

“Somebody didn’t have his morning coffee today!” Grantaire calls after him, and he can hear a muttered string of curse words as Enjolras opens and closes doors. Grantaire leans back, taking another sip of his own coffee and retrieving his drawing from where Enjolras had put it a few feet away. He continues like this for a while, trying to ignore the curses as they progressively louder as Enjolras gets increasingly frustrated and just focusing on his shading and the plains and valleys of the face he’s working on. 

“Here it is,” Enjolras calls from the living room. Grantaire hums. “Thanks for helping me,” Enjolras adds sarcastically. Grantaire’s head snaps up from his drawing, warning bells going off in his brain. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, even though he knows perfectly well what it means.

“It means that I blatantly  _ asked  _ you to help find my laptop and you did nothing, what did you think it meant?” Enjolras says. 

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to keep track of all of your shit?” Grantaire yells, drawing now forgotten. 

“Well I wouldn’t have lost it if you weren’t such a fucking mess!” Enjolras shouts. Grantaire is breathing heavily now, watching the fire in Enjolras’s eyes that had entranced him for so long. 

“Why is it my fault?! It’s your laptop- you’re always talking about how people need to take responsibility for their actions, and just because your shitty laptop was lost-”

“It’s  _ not  _ shitty, that’s the whole point Grantaire, it cost like a thousand dollars!”

“- it suddenly becomes my fault! You expect  _ way  _ too much from everyone, Enjolras, and when they let you down you act disappointed! We can’t all be perfect like you!”

“Oh, so you just expect me to just sit here while our apartment turns into a pigsty?  _ Look  _ at this fucking mess Grantaire, there are papers everywhere, papers that  _ aren’t  _ mine because I actually realize that someone else lives here and I shouldn’t just throw shit everywhere!”

“Oh I’m so sorry that His Majesty can’t sit down because he can’t be bothered to  _ move  _ a fucking piece of paper!” Grantaire is practically screaming now, channelling all of his frustration from what feels like the past year into his words. Enjolras closes his eyes briefly.

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice eerily calm. 

“Don’t do  _ what,  _ Enjolras? Bring up the fact that you were born to millionaires and can’t get used to living without a maid? I work too, and maybe once in a while I get so tired that I don’t feel like doing stuff, but no, it’s all about you! I’m sorry if I’m not the perfect husband to suit your bourgeoisie tastes-”

“Don’t  _ do  _ that,” Enjolras repeats, and his eyes are blazing now, spots of color blooming on his cheekbones. “You know I hate them, they’re racist and sexist and homophobic and every day I thank God that I cut them out of my life-”

“ _ You  _ cut  _ them  _ out of your life? Oh, that’s  _ rich,  _ Enjolras, it really is, because as much as you say you hate them, you wouldn’t have cut them out if they hadn’t insulted me, because you care too much about living that perfect pampered life and you  _ know  _ I can’t give you that, yet you seem to expect it anyway!”

“All I expect is basic human decency, which apparently you don’t have!” Enjolras shouts, moving closer so that they are inches away from each other. Grantaire flashes back to their first kiss, awkward and unsure and almost just like this. But not. 

“Well if I’m so  _ unacceptable, _ ” Grantaire hisses, purposefully using the same word Enjolras’s parents had used to refer to him when Enjolras had announced their engagement, rejoicing in the way it makes Enjolras turn red with anger, “then why are you even  _ married  _ to me?”

“Sometimes I don’t even know!” Enjolras yells, and storms away, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Grantaire takes a deep breath and sits down at the breakfast bar, burying his head in his hands and resisting the urge to burst into tears. 

 

***

 

Enjolras is seething from the other side of the door. He feels a pang of regret- he said some things he definitely should not have said- but he pushes it down because he’s pissed and he just wants to lay in a pool of his anger. So to speak. 

But he doesn’t. He’s never been able to. When Enjolras is upset- sad or mad or indignant- he becomes almost scarily productive. He’s able to channel all of his negative energy into his latest project, or work, or whatever strikes his fancy at the time. Courfeyrac often marvels at how clean and well-organized Enjolras’s closet is, and this is why. Today, however, Enjolras doesn’t particularly feel like organizing anything or working on Les Amis projects.

He sits at his desk and boots up the laptop. Some people may question why he is choosing to work about an hour before he actually has to go to work, but Enjolras has never particularly cared what people think of him. 

He checks his email. There’s  nothing new, except for an email from a co-worker of his who wants him to send her a PDF of divorce papers for a client. Enjolras quickly drafts an email, and then looks up the papers so he can attach the link, humming as he does so, anger almost forgotten. He feels relaxed and at ease when he works like this, feels like he’s getting something done, even though his work is really never done. He scrolls slowly through the PDF, checking to make sure the necessary components are there, before attaching the link and sending the email.

 

***

Grantaire peeks into their bedroom, unsure if it’s even worth it to go in and grab his new set of charcoal pencils and risk invoking the wrath of Enjolras. But his husband is sitting at his laptop, seemingly working, so Grantaire thinks it will be fine if he takes his pencils from where they sit on top of the dresser. He steps into the room, trying to be as quiet as possible, glancing at Enjolras every now and then. He takes his pencils and looks over at Enjolras again, who has yet to notice Grantaire, instead staring intently at his computer screen, where he’s looking at…

Divorce papers. 

Grantaire races out of the room as fast as he can, running to the bathroom and locking the door, sitting on the lid of the toilet. 

Really, he supposes, it was only a matter of time. They had gotten married young,  _ too  _ young, according to his relatives, who whispered about it at the reception, holding martinis and wearing pearls and crisp suits. At the time, Grantaire had been ecstatic, figuring it meant that it was time better spent with the person you loved and valued most in the world, the person who you wanted to be at your side for the rest of time. But now it seems like maybe his relatives were right, like maybe an early marriage only meant early heartbreak. 

He’s always wondered when Enjolras was going to wake up and be hit with the sudden realization that Grantaire simply  _ isn’t good enough.  _ When Enjolras had proposed to Grantaire, he had scarcely believed it- he’d cried and pinched himself so many times that there was a bruise on his arm the next day. But apparently now Enjolras had realized the very thing that Grantaire has known along- Enjolras deserves better, so much better than Grantaire can ever be. He deserves a god, and Grantaire is but a mortal. 

He hears Enjolras leave the apartment, hears the door shut behind him, and it’s like the sound inspires him in some way, because he leaves the bathroom and rushes to the bedroom. The bedroom where he and Enjolras sleep together, an ethereal being that deserves better than a cynic with little to no life skills. 

And he knows this, he’s always known this, so why can’t he stop crying as he scribbles out a note to Enjolras, as he sets it on his desk, as he looks down at his wedding ring, shuts his eyes, and slips it off, resting it on top of the note like a paperweight. 

 

**R:** can i crash at your place

 

**Ponine:** ya sure but why

 

**R:** enjolras and i argued

**Ponine:** but you guys argue all the time and ur still like the power couple of our friend group

**R:** yeah but i dont see him looking up divorce papers after every argument do i

 

**Ponine:** oh my god, grantaire, I’m so sorry

 

**Ponine:** he doesn’t deserve you

 

**R:** I don’t deserve HIM

 

**R:** and now he knows that too

 

**Ponine:** that isnt true

 

**R:** it is, stop lying

 

**R:** i’ll be there in 20 mins

 

He shuts off his phone and puts it back into his pocket, sitting on the bed and just… looking. They never make their bed, and the sheets are rumpled and there’s a pillow that has fallen onto the floor. He picks it up. It smells like Enjolras. 

He takes it with him. 

 

***

 

“Grantaire, oh my  _ god,  _ work today was so awful, let me just tell you…” Enjolras trails off as he sees that there’s nobody in the living room to listen to him. Nobody in the kitchen either. “Grantaire?” He knocks on the bathroom door, then pushes it open. Worried now, he looks at his phone, checking to see if there are any missed calls, or texts he hasn’t seen. 

There aren’t. 

He goes into the bedroom, walks over to the bed. He sits down, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. It’s then he notices the slip of paper on his desk, and the wedding ring on top of it. His eyes widen, and he shakes his head because this can’t be happening, Grantaire couldn’t have left, not when they’d told each other how much they loved each other just last night- but maybe it was the argument. That stupid, stupid argument where Enjolras was food deprived and sleep deprived and didn’t know what he was saying. And now Grantaire is gone. Tears sting his eyes, but he pushes them back and picks up the note, bracing himself. 

  
  


_ Enjolras, _

 

__ _ I saw you looking up divorce papers. I didn’t want to make the situation any more awkward by forcing you to come up with a way to bring it up in conversation, so I just left. I figured that might be easier for you. You can have the ring back.  _ _ I love you  _ _ I hope you find someone who deserves you. _

 

__ _ Grantaire _

 

__ Enjolras picks up the wedding ring then, feels the weight in his hand, and that’s when the tears start to fall, because how could he have been so stupid, why had he gone and looked up divorce papers  _ right after their argument,  _ it could have waited, but he just  _ had  _ to choose to get involved with work right then. He could have worked on something else,  _ anything  _ else other than what he had decided to do, because now look what he had done. His husband, the person he loved most in the world, was gone. 

He wipes his nose with his sleeve, and pulls out his phone, punching in a phone number as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. The phone rings and rings and Enjolras is afraid that nobody will pick it up, but then he hears Combeferre’s voice and suddenly feels slightly better.

“Ferre?” he says in a tiny voice. “I messed up, I really messed up…” and now he’s crying again and Combeferre is reassuring him, promising that he and Courfeyrac will be over right away with extra blankets and cocoa mix and Enjolras wants to say no, wants to say that he deserves none of this, but he’s crying too hard. Combeferre stays on the phone until they’re outside Enjolras’s apartment door, which is unlocked. Enjolras hears the door creak open, and rolls onto his back, desperately attempting to somehow stop the flow of tears that are coursing down his face like a river. He hears a gentle knock on the bedroom door.

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac calls, voice unusually gentle. “Can we come in?”

“Y-yes,” Enjolras manages, and they open the door. Courfeyrac flies to Enjolras’s side, rubbing his back and hugging him and letting Enjolras cry all over his sweater, which Enjolras knows for a  _ fact  _ is brand new. Combeferre sits himself down on the bed and studies Enjolras sympathetically.

“Enjolras, what happened?” Enjolras hiccups.

“I- we- Grantaire-” Combeferre nods, like this somehow makes sense.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, okay? Just yes or no ones, or ones you answer with a number, like scale of one to ten.” Enjolras nods. Combeferre continues. “Is Grantaire mad at you?” Enjolras nods. “Okay, now on a scale of one to ten, how mad is he?” Enjolras holds up the wedding ring in answer. Courfeyrac releases him, looking at Enjolras in astonishment.

“Wait, he left you?” Enjolras nods, crying harder. He doesn’t know where all of this liquid is coming from, he hardly ever drinks. Or eats. “Enjolras, I’m so sorry oh my god- can you, like, write what happened?” Enjolras rips a piece of paper off the notepad- the same notepad Grantaire has used, and scribbles down the story.

 

_ We were arguing over something stupid- I couldn’t find my computer and got mad at him because he doesn’t clean the apartment a lot and accused it of being his fault and things escalated really fast but I found it and it was fine until I wanted to do some work to get my mind off things. I had to look up divorce papers for one of my co-workers, and I guess Grantaire saw me doing it or something and since we were still really tense he thought I wanted to divorce him which I don’t because I love him so much and now he’s just gone _

 

__ Enjolras watches Courfeyrac’s eyes scan the paper, the way his mouth opens slightly when he’s finished, the way he wordlessly hands the paper to Combeferre and wraps Enjolras in a hug again. 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre says, “do you know where he is?” Enjolras shakes his head. “Have you texted him?” He shakes his head again. Combeferre nods. “Okay. Game plan. Text him, call him. If he doesn’t answer, then we can text Jehan and Eponine- they’re his best friends, right? So they might know. Also, we brought you ice cream. It’s in your freezer.”

“It’s cookie dough,” Courfeyrac adds. “We thought it would be a good dinner.” Enjolras manages a laugh. Courfeyrac looks encouraged by this, and continues. “So why don’t Ferre and I go and get us all bowls of ice cream and put on Netflix and you text Grantaire, okay?” Enjolras takes a deep breath and nods, wiping his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, and Courfeyrac hugs him in answer. 

 

**Enjolras:** Grantaire, where are you

**Enjolras:** I saw your note

 

**Enjolras:** I’m so sorry- I don’t want a divorce, I love you so much

 

**Enjolras:** Please respond

 

**Enjolras:** I can explain everything

 

**Enjolras:** At least let me know you’re safe

 

**Enjolras:** Please

 

He calls him too, calls him four times, but gets his voicemail. He throws his phone at the wall, because what a useless device it is, not allowing him to contact his husband, his husband who could be anywhere right now all because of him. 

He leaves the room before he can start crying again.

 

***

 

A few blocks away, Grantaire is crying too. Eponine is holding him, murmuring into his ear, and Grantaire grips onto her like a lifeline. He’d smashed his phone on his way here, slammed it into the ground and then stomped on it, because on there were too many memories, pictures of Enjolras and him together, reminders in their calendar for date nights, sweet texts that end with heart emojis and “I love you’s.” Pictures and words that are no longer true. 

“I’m going to make you soup,” Eponine says suddenly. “It’s what makes me feel better when I’m sad.” Grantaire nods, and Eponine gets up. He can hear her moving around the kitchen, hear the clank of bowls and spoons. He tilts his head back so it’s resting on the back of the couch, and stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan go around and around and around. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, just staring, but soon Eponine is back carrying two ceramic bowls filled with lentil soup. It smells amazing, but Grantaire isn’t hungry. He stirs the soup while Eponine eats, taking small spoonfuls now and then. It’s nice, he realizes, to just sit here with Eponine, no conversation necessary. His tears have stopped somewhat, and Eponine looks over at him after a while, a soft expression on her face.

“Netflix?” she asks, and Grantaire nods, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around himself. She nestles in next to him, tilting his head to rest on her shoulder, and he watches as she picks the next movie in her Recommended queue. 

In retrospect,  _ Alex Strangelove  _ was probably not the best movie to watch, considering it’s about a bisexual guy who winds up dating a gay guy when a) Grantaire is bi and b) Enjolras is gay. By the end of the movie, he’s crying again, and Eponine is hugging him, letting his tears soak into her thin tank top. He wonders what Enjolras is doing right now, if he even cares, and starts crying harder. 

***

 

Enjolras is sitting on the couch sandwiched between Courfeyrac and Combeferre, holding a half-finished pint of ice cream.  _ High School Musical  _ is on because (and Enjolras tells almost  _ no one  _ this) it’s Enjolras’s favorite movie. But Enjolras isn’t paying much attention. His eyes are on his phone, hoping against hope that it will light up, that Grantaire will have responded, that somehow he’ll wake up and this will have all been a bad dream.

None of this happens.

Instead, Combeferre comes out from the kitchen, where he had been holding a conversation with Jehan. His expression betrays nothing, and Enjolras pauses the movie, holding a pillow close to him with bated breath.

“Jehan doesn’t know where he is,” Combeferre says, and Enjolras falls back so that he’s laying on top of Courfeyrac. “I can call Eponine though.”

“Can I?” Enjolras asks, and Combeferre nods, handing Enjolras his phone.

“She might not pick up if she knows it’s you,” he explains. “If Grantaire is there, he’s probably told her what happened, so she probably wants to murder you.” Enjolras nods.

“Ferre’s smart,” Courfeyrac whispers to him, and Enjolras gives him a weak smile. 

“Hey Siri,” he says, and the phone lights up. “Call Eponine.”

“Calling Eponine Thenardier,” the phone says, and begins to dial. Courfeyrac rubs Enjolras’s back encouragingly, and Combeferre stands over the two of them, looking slightly anxious. 

“Combeferre?” Eponine says. Enjolras takes a deep breath.

“Um, actually, it’s Enjolras. No- wait don’t hang up-” he pleads, because Eponine has muttered what sounds like ‘bastard’ under her breath. “I just- is Grantaire with you?”

“Yes,” she replies coldly. “And I don’t think he wants to see you now. Or ever.”

“Can I talk to him, at least?” he begs. “Please, Eponine, it’s not what you think. I  _ love  _ him.” Eponine is silent for a while. 

“Explain what happened to me. You said it’s not what I think, so prove yourself right.”

“We argued,” Enjolras says in a rush. “We argued and it was awful and I said things I shouldn’t have. And then I went to do some work to take my mind off things and I was looking up divorce papers for a co-worker and I guess he saw and-” he breaks off, taking a long breath to steady himself. “Now he hates me,” he finishes, and Eponine is quick to reply.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does. Ask him if he wants to talk to me.”

“Enjolras-”

“Ask him.”

“Fine,” she huffs, and Enjolras hears her calling to Grantaire. He hears him shout a reply, and his heart quickens. “He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Eponine says flatly when she comes back. Enjolras had known this would happen, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t upset.

“Right,” he says, and Eponine is quiet for a while. 

“Enjolras,” she says finally. “He’s hurt.  _ You hurt him,  _ intentional or not. And I just- I know he doesn’t want to talk to you, but you should- you should come over.” Enjolras blinks. He had not been expecting this.

“What,” he says stupidly.

“Come over,” she repeats. “Explain to him what happened. I think he should hear it.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “I- yeah. I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up, turning to Courfeyrac and Combeferre with a slight smile. “She says I can come visit,” he says, and Courfeyrac squeals and hugs him. 

“Does Grantaire want to see you?” Combeferre asks. Enjolras shakes his head, shoulders slumping slightly. 

“Sorry, but why are you going then?” Courfeyrac asks, sounding genuinely curious. Enjolras sighs.

“Because if I don’t explain things to him now, the pain he’s feeling will only get worse. It  _ has  _ to be today.” Combeferre gives him a slight smile at this. Courfeyrac nods in understanding. Then, his face lights up.

“Do you want us to come?” he asks, bouncing up and down on the couch. “I mean, Eponine will probably kick us all out because you guys need ‘alone time’ or whatever, but we could be moral support on the way!” Enjolras thinks for a moment before nodding. Courfeyrac grins at him, and gives him one last hug before they get up and head out.

 

***

 

There’s a knock on the door. “Ep!” Grantaire shouts.

“I’m in the bathroom Grantaire, give me a second!” Grantaire rolls his eyes and climbs up off the couch. He catches sight of his reflection in a small mirror, and shies away in disgust. His hair is frizzy, curls sticking out in every direction imaginable. His eyes are rimmed with red, and the lids are swollen. In short, he's a mess, but he is so beyond caring what people think of him right now. 

“If you’re selling something, I don’t-” he begins, but stops short when he sees who is standing on the other side of the door. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are standing on either side of Enjolras, who somehow manages to look like an angel even when it’s obvious he’s been crying too. Enjolras’s eyes widen at the sight of him. 

“Grantaire-”

“No, nope, sorry, not today,” Grantaire says, and tries to shut the door, but Enjolras sticks his foot into the doorframe, blocking him from closing it.

“Please- can we just talk? Give me five minutes, that’s it-” Eponine is out of the bathroom now, and sees Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre at the door. Her expression doesn’t change, but she pulls the doorknob from Grantaire’s hand and pulls it open, allowing the three of them to enter the apartment. 

“Eponine, what the fuck?” Grantaire hisses. 

“At least  _ listen  _ to him Grantaire,” Eponine hisses back. She turns to Courfeyrac and Combeferre with a sunny smile. “Now, would you two care to go for coffee? There’s a little cafe just down the block.” The two of them glance at each other, then at Enjolras, who gives them a slight nod. They head out, casting backward glances at Enjolras and Grantaire. The door shuts behind them. 

“Your five minutes starts now,” Grantaire says. Enjolras takes a deep breath.

“Right. Um, so-”

“Four minutes and fifty-five seconds.”

“Stop. I’m trying to- okay. You know how when I’m mad I get super productive? I decided to be productive with work stuff, rather than organizational stuff or Les Amis stuff. So one of my co-workers needed me to email them a PDF of what a typical set of divorce papers look like. I know it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do at the time given the scenario…” Enjolras is still talking, but Grantaire can’t hear him. He believes Enjolras unquestioningly, because Enjolras never lies, but what does that mean for him? He had been so certain that Enjolras no longer loved him, had finally realized that Grantaire had so little to give him while he had so much to give Grantaire, but it had all turned out to be some stupid mistake that was entirely Grantaire’s fault. 

“...so  _ obviously  _ it’s because capitalism is just something that is widely accepted and believed to be the only way to run society, even though there are multiple examples of-” Grantaire  holds up a hand, interrupting Enjolras’s rant (how does he manage to incorporate capitalism into  _ every single conversation? _ ). 

“Stop. Just- I- I feel so fucking stupid, Enj,” he says, moving to sit on the couch and burying his face in his hands. “I just overreacted and just- none of this would have happened if I weren’t so fucking dramatic and extra and it didn’t need to be like this-”

“Hey, no, it’s not your fault,” Enjolras says quickly, sitting down next to him and tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, isn’t it technically mine?”

“I guess it’s both of us,” Grantaire says drily. Enjolras nods, biting his lip. 

“Can I ask you something?” Grantaire nods. Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Sorry if this is rude, this isn't my forte, but why did you react the way you did? You were so ready to believe that I didn’t love you anymore, but why? Am I- am I not a good enough husband?” Grantaire blinks. He cannot believe Enjolras is asking if he, of all people, isn’t a good enough husband.

“No- hell no, Enj, you’re amazing. It’s just me being super insecure and depressed and shit and reading way too much into things.” Enjolras nods, looking slightly more at ease. 

“But it’s still- the fact that you can assume that I’d just leave you like this, the fact that you don’t seem to know that I love you  _ so much,  _ and I’d never do that,  _ ever _ … Grantaire, we should go to couples therapy.” Grantaire blinks. He was not expecting that. But the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Enjolras mistakes his thought for uncertainty, and continues talking. “It doesn’t mean that we’re dysfunctional or anything, I just think we need to talk to people about this and maybe see if there’s something we can do so that you’re less insecure about our marriage-  _ I _ proposed to  _ you,  _ Grantaire- I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don’t want you to doubt that-”

“I get it,” Grantaire says quietly. “And I think you’re right.” Enjolras sighs in relief. 

“Okay- okay, that’s good, I didn’t know how you would react. People are weird about the idea of therapy, but I think if it helps you, it can’t be bad, right? It isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and there’s just this stigma-”

“Enjolras. Stop talking. I get it.” Enjolras laughs a little. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It’s silent for a while. Grantaire is staring straight ahead, just trying to process everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours (god, has it only been twelve hours?) and also watching Enjolras out of the corner of his eye. Enjolras is watching him, eyes soft, and Grantaire wishes he knew what he was thinking. 

“I really love you,” Enjolras says suddenly. Grantaire turns to face him, and realizes that Enjolras is tearing up. “I love you a lot, and I just- I never want you to think that I would leave you. Ever. Because I love you too much to do that to you.” Grantaire doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t need to know, because Enjolras is crashing their lips together and Grantaire has his hands in his hair and it’s bliss. When they break apart, they’re both smiling, and the look in Enjolras’s eyes makes Grantaire tug him closer and kiss him again.

Neither of them are perfect. But together, they can get pretty close. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!!! I hope you liked it!! Please leave comments and kudos, they are what motivate me to write. My Tumblr is the-night-that-ends-at-last.tumblr.com if you want to come talk to me about dead French revolutionaries.
> 
> Title is from by "The Call" by Regina Spektor.


End file.
